With pins on the top that sparkled
when kept beside the fire.
It healed the wounded-
badged the brave
and put excitement back into the dull.
My little hands were prohibited from touching such treasure,
but I watched from a distnace as it transformed a critical daily
garment k into an ensemble worthy of Milan.
It fixed the torn, it helped the ripped and held together the most
stubborn of fabrics.
I believed in magic then.
Monday
When I grow up I want to be...
When I was a child after school my two younger brothers and I would spend hours outside on adventures; we were pirates, pilots, thieves, statesmen and villains. We left the bored ed realms of reality and donned our imaginations for an afternoon. It was during this time that I first realised that the world of make believe was the best place for someone who dreamed as Peter and Wendy did of Never land.
Playing dress up and being on stage was the easiest way to fun that I could think of, we wrote stories as kids and we then spent hours going through the gruelling tasks of casting, production and eventually executing our written plots.
My parents always humoured and applauded such tasks, occasionally making eye contact no doubt dreaming of a child that would be content on a football field or in front of a computer screen, they had four other off springs to fulfill that duty. I was to be their one ping pong ball amongst the rest.
My brothers and sister occasionally took part in my games and stories, but after a number of failed efforts they realised that they had outgrown the pixie dust. It was strange for me. We were five kids very similar in eyes and noses- yet we were so different in our minds it would be difficult to find the family gene amongst the thoughts.
As we grew older it was an "each to their own" mind frame. My parents encouraged each child on our paths and met us half way when times tough, easy and joyful. They smiled in triumph, wept when fruits spoiled and most importantly of all they were there to see it all.
Playing dress up and being on stage was the easiest way to fun that I could think of, we wrote stories as kids and we then spent hours going through the gruelling tasks of casting, production and eventually executing our written plots.
My parents always humoured and applauded such tasks, occasionally making eye contact no doubt dreaming of a child that would be content on a football field or in front of a computer screen, they had four other off springs to fulfill that duty. I was to be their one ping pong ball amongst the rest.
My brothers and sister occasionally took part in my games and stories, but after a number of failed efforts they realised that they had outgrown the pixie dust. It was strange for me. We were five kids very similar in eyes and noses- yet we were so different in our minds it would be difficult to find the family gene amongst the thoughts.
As we grew older it was an "each to their own" mind frame. My parents encouraged each child on our paths and met us half way when times tough, easy and joyful. They smiled in triumph, wept when fruits spoiled and most importantly of all they were there to see it all.
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